I first met Mr. Miller in the fifth grade. He taught junior high and highschool history, and I wouldn't have him for two years. He was cute, and funny, but I didn't talk to him all that much.
Just like clock work, two years later, he was my teacher. The first day of class, he introduced himself, cracked a dorky joke, and smiled. He ran his fingers through his short black hair, and his warm, brown eyes met mine. My heart stopped. My face turned bright red. I felt dizzy, and utterly euphoric. I was completely in love with him.
Semester after semester went by. I would stay silent in his class, hoping he wouldn't call on me. Every once and a while he would look my way, or ask me to answer a question. I would blush, studder, and end up answering, "I don't really-um-know..."
I cared deeply about him, and even though he had a girlfriend, that didn't stop me from wondering what it would be like to kiss him in the rain.
He'll never know how I feel. I still love him. I will always love him, even if I sit in his class every day, pretending to listen to his lectures, when I'm really trying not to blush just at the sound of his voice.

Love-O-Meter

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